of the fires near the
edge of the creek. They had not taken off their clothes in almost a week,
and they felt as if they had been living like cave-men. Nevertheless the
satisfaction that comes from deeds well done pervaded them, and as they
lay upon the leaves and awaited their food and coffee they showed great
good humor.

"Have you any objection, sir, to my taking a census?" said Warner to
Colonel Winchester.

"No, Warner, but what kind of a census do you mean?"

"I want to count our wounds, separately and individually and then make up
the grand total."

"All right, George, go ahead," said Colonel Winchester, laughing.

"Dick," said Warner, "what hurts have you sustained in the past week?"

"A bullet scratch on the shoulder, another on the side, a slight cut from
a saber on my left arm, about healed now, a spent bullet that hit me on
the head, raising a lump and ache for the time being, and a kick from one
of our own horses that made me walk lame for a day."

"The kick from a horse, as it was one of our horses, doesn't go."

"I didn't put it forward seriously. I withdraw my claim on its account."

"That allows you four wounds. Now, Pennington, how about you?"

"First I had a terrible wound in the foot," replied the Nebraskan.
"A bullet went right through my left shoe and cut the skin off the top
of my little toe."

"Leave out the 'terrible.' That's no dreadful wound."

"No, but it burned like the sting of a wasp and bled in a most
disgraceful manner all over my sock. Then my belt buckle was shot away."

"That doesn't count either. A wound's a wound only when you're hit
yourself, not when some piece of your clothing is struck."

"All right. The belt buckle's barred, although it gave me a shock when
the bullet met it. A small bullet went through the flesh of my left arm
just above the elbow. It healed so fast that I've hardly noticed it, due,
of course, to the very healthy and temperate life I've led. I suppose,
George, it would have laid up a fellow of your habits for a week."

"Never mind about my habits, but go on with the list of your wounds.
A great beauty of mathematics is that it compels you to keep to your
subject. When you're solving one of those delightful problems in
mathematics you can't digress and drag in irrelevant things. Algebra is
the very thing for a confused mind like yours, Frank, one that doesn't
coordinate. But get on with your list."

"When we were in pursuit my h